


Lucid Dreaming

by Raja_Myna



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Execution, Gen, Lucid Dreaming, Rescue, Surprise Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24306406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raja_Myna/pseuds/Raja_Myna
Summary: No matter how many years – how manydecades– pass, Ezio knows the execution will always haunt his dreams.Because Ezio deserves to put some old ghosts to rest, even if it's only in his mind.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 22





	Lucid Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Do let me know whether you're actually surprised.

No matter how many years – how many _decades_ – pass, Ezio knows the execution will always haunt his dreams.

It has faded now, in both frequency and detail, crowding with many other nightmares, memories, and fears for the future, and upon rare occasions, hopes and more restful dreams.

Every now and then, though, it flares up again. Whenever it does, he’s back in his seventeen-year-old body, trying and failing to push through the crowd surrounding the platform in time. Everything is fuzzy, details wiped away, everything but for the disbelieving terror and sickening lurch of his stomach as the platform collapses and the ropes go taut.

At first, this time seemed to be no different.

The only change seems to be his awareness of it – the haziness of dreaming clouding the surroundings, the roar of the crowd strangely dull – but changes soon make themselves apparent.

He is not seventeen. The clothes he wears and the weapons he wields are not the ones from Florence of decades past, but those of Constantinople, the robes that he wore just today – the weapons that he set aside in Altaïr’s tomb just this evening – and there’s the realization. He’s dreaming. Never before has he known that until his eyes snap open, breathing rapid and hands clutching desperately at the sheets.

Strangely enough, with the realization comes the sharpening of his surroundings. Colours grow vivid, noises more distinct, and blurry edges give way to sharp lines. The faceless masses gain features and when he looks upon the platform –

God, but he’d forgotten what they looked like.

His father, face twisted with enraged betrayal and hiding the fear for his family. Federico, trying to paste “stoic” on top of terror. Petruccio, crying soundlessly.

And this time, Ezio can do something.

His timing must be impeccable and his aim even more so, but – Ezio has confidence in himself and his skills. He can do this.

Maybe, just maybe, managing to save his family in this dream will end the nightmares, leaving him with only the happy times to remember. It feels like wishful thinking, but he’s looking forward to a new life as it is, leaving old tragedy behind might be just what he needs.

He needs to get closer and starts to move along the outskirts of the crowd, trying to remember _when_ Alberti will give the order to hang them. He cannot remember exactly, but the man seems content to ramble on.

It takes a little time, but Ezio reaches his chosen spot with time to spare. He contemplates his targets and palms three throwing knives. There are two ways he could do this – cut the ropes as they go taut or strike down Alberti and the two executioners on the platform. The first would be harder to pull off but leave him to draw the attention of the guards while hopefully giving father, Federico and Petruccio time to gather themselves out of immediate sight and run; the second would be easier but leave his father and brothers standing as targets for archers stationed around the plaza, with Ezio perhaps unable to command their attention the same way. What better way to stymie an attempted rescuer than by making sure he has naught to rescue, after all? It would be just the trick his sleeping mind would pull on him.

Then he has contemplated too long and the choice is made for him.

Blades fly as bodies fall – and keep falling, all three ropes cut. Ezio moves immediately, three more blades ending Uberto Alberti and his two executioners almost as an afterthought as Ezio makes his way through a parting, suddenly terrified crowd to the platform.

Ezio spares a moment to wonder why the dream has not ended – it usually does when the platform drops – but decides that it isn’t important. His family is not safe yet, that’s probably why.

Guards are moving to surround him. Ezio tosses a knife to his father’s feet, hoping that the intent – get yourselves free and able to move, now – is understood before focusing on holding off the men. Ezio has the advantage, such as it is. He’s well used to the Florentine guard, even after all the years he’s spent away, and these men are utterly unused to the ways of an experienced Assassin.

They don’t make every mistake in the book, but they make more than enough for Ezio to capitalize on and turn the fight his way.

He flows through combat, taking them down with disabling moves more than lethal ones – he’s had enough of death, even – especially – in his dreams, and an unconscious man is little more of a present threat than a dead one. Less, even, if his companions prioritize getting him away from the fight above continuing to engage the opponent.

Fights rarely last long in reality, but Ezio finds himself losing track of time enough for it to feel like half an eternity before he’s joined by another fighter. It isn’t a distraction, not after so many years of fighting alongside his recruits, but rather a relief.

Ezio’s father, it turns out, is rather an artist with a knife.

Federico is carrying Petruccio on his back. Both of them are obviously rattled. Petruccio is still crying, hiccupping as he draws for breath. Federico looks a little lost and a lot hurt but attempting to bury it.

This is a bad place to remain. Ezio urges them on through the crowd. It is fortunate that they’re still wearing their usual clothes, they’ll have an easier time blending in with crowds. His father is distracted though, scanning the area with something close to desperation. Ezio wonders what he’s searching for, but there’s no time. Even his dreams are not so kind to him.

“There is little time,” he says, drawing their attention. “Hide. I will draw the guards away while you do and find you when it’s safe.”

“How will you find us?” asks his father. Ezio smiles thinly.

“I’ll see your path, don’t worry.”

The furrow between his father’s brows isn’t unexpected, exactly. Ezio’s Gift hadn’t developed in that direction yet when he was seventeen. It wouldn’t for decades, but… he triggers the mental switch that sinks the world into shade and colours people in bright auras. Yes. Just like his body, decades out of time, his Gifts are the same.

It is a logical leap to make, but given how illogical dreams can be, it felt prudent to check.

That same dream logic must lead his father to see something that makes him ready to accept Ezio’s word, for he ushers Federico along without further protest. Ezio turns his back on them and trusts in them to hide and stay safe. There is a slight commotion behind him, but he ignores it and focuses on a man glowing blood-red in his Sight.

Ezio punches the man in the face and nearly does a double-take as he belatedly recognizes Brother Maffei. Youthful rage – that he had thought lost to him, but likely tempted to the surface by the dream – flares and any thought of running and leaving the man alone after that first punch evaporates, but he also needs the guard to follow him _now_.

The decision is made in a split second and the man is left on the ground, dazed by the punch and with a fast-acting poison coursing through his veins, currently undiscovered and likely to remain so until after the man has already died.

Enraged guards flock after him as Brother Maffei gathers himself enough to cry for them and Ezio loses himself in the familiar cat-and-mouse game across Florence’s streets and rooftops. He makes himself enough of a nuisance it feels the entire city is in an uproar. Then he goes to ground. He sneaks into a monastery and steals a monk’s habit, putting it on top of his usual uniform. Then he joins the masses and walks the city, searching for his father and brothers’ trail. On the way, he bribes a couple of criers, assassinates an official, and actually blesses a guard’s search for himself. No wanted posters have appeared yet, but he supposes they’re on the way. It usually takes a couple of hours before they are hung up, and now it will likely take longer than that, since there are unlikely to be premade ones available.

He lucks out soon enough, sets of footsteps glowing the gold of importance marking an alleyway in front of him. He trails them leisurely, without obvious hurry, and smiles to himself when he sees them lead up to Paola’s door. The door in question glows white with safety and Ezio spares no time in walking up and knocking.

A young courtesan opens the door, and if she’s surprised at seeing an old man in monk’s garb she makes no indication of it.

“I’d like to speak with Madonna Paola and her guests, please,” says Ezio, and now the young woman reacts. A flash of fear followed by steely-eyed determination are quickly covered up, but not quick enough to escape him. “No worries,” he continues, “I wish them no ill.”

The woman lets him in but does not guide him further. “Then you won’t mind waiting here, Messere.”

Ezio inclines his head and makes his way to one of the couches. The courtesan swiftly disappears upstairs. This is a remarkably tranquil ending to a dream. He should really have these more often.

He relaxes into the couch and waves away a courtesan who sits down beside him, looking to ply her trade, and instead asks for something to drink. His younger self would wonder at him, declining the beautiful young lady, he thinks with amusement, but… he has a beautiful lady waiting for him when he wakes up. Accepting a courtesan, even just in a dream… no.

There is movement up the stairs and he feels warmth fill his chest as he watches his father and Federico follow Paola down. It lasts only moments before another young man joins them. A terrifyingly familiar young man.

Ezio’s veins freeze over as he beholds his seventeen-year-old self, implications running through his mind.

What…?

_What_.

**Author's Note:**

> Oopsie.


End file.
